


Lol B)

by maniacalmole



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 20:48:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5942632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maniacalmole/pseuds/maniacalmole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Crowley tries to teach Aziraphale how to text.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lol B)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 日本語 available: [日本語訳：Lol B) by maniacalmole](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12940662) by [pinecrunch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinecrunch/pseuds/pinecrunch)



                Crowley had gotten one of the first mobile phones in existence, and he had also bought one for Aziraphale. He told him it was like a walky-talky. This, of course, led to the angel refusing for at least a year to understand that he didn’t have to say ‘over’ after every sentence.

                Every year afterwards, Crowley continued to buy the new upgrades and latest versions, until he reached the point where the next one meant that he would have to get rid of his flip phone. What was the point in having a cell phone if you couldn’t flip it open dramatically when you answered it? There was that satisfying feeling, too, of snapping it shut when you hang up on annoying people. Humans missed the brilliance of so many things they created.

                But then, the iPhones started to come out, and they were sleek and shiny, and they were absurdly expensive, and Crowley liked that. So he bought one of each and every version.

                Meanwhile, Aziraphale had not updated since his very first mobile with the antenna, and things like texting and apps were completely foreign to him. Until one day, when Crowley showed up and held out his hand, a shiny white iPhone on his palm, and the dubious angel had taken it. Two decades was actually a fairly short period of transitional lag for Aziraphale. Crowley still had to spend two hours teaching him how to make one phone-call. And he was already certain that the angel was going to continue calling it ‘text messaging’ instead of ‘texting’ for at least another six months. Nevertheless, he taught the angel with patience that was not normally found in a demon, and when he left Aziraphale’s place, he was at least confident that the angel would no longer be trying to use his old mobile. This was because Crowley had smushed it.

                It was a few hours after Crowley had finally gotten home that he got his first message.

                The phone dinged.

                Finding it almost more likely that the text would be from one of his ‘contacts’ among the human population, than from the reluctant angel, he was surprised to see the name ‘Aziraphale’. (He had been hoping that autocorrect would butcher the name so that he could keep the correction as his contact, purely to drive the angel mad, but apparently it was too weird for autocorrect to even attempt). He opened the text.

_Found a book._

                Crowley smirked. Of course.

                _What is it?_

                Aziraphale, back in his store, stared at Crowley’s reply in consternation. His eyes turned to the book sitting on his table. It was from the eighteenth century and the title was thirty words long. It had taken him a full minute to write the first message. Perhaps he should just call the demon to tell him…but no. He was determined to learn, if anything, just to stop him from smirking about it all the time. He carefully typed the words and sent the message.

                Crowley stared at the thirty-word text with his eyebrows slightly raised. There was not a single misspelled word in it. He was impressed. So much so, that he begrudgingly told him.

                This time it was Aziraphale’s turn to grin as he replied to the text.

                _I’m not completely one of, you k ow._

                The angel stared at his sent text in mortification. How had it even come up with ‘one of’ from ‘inept’? He tried again.

                _Inept, you k ow._

                _You know_

                Finally.

                The angel sank back in his chair with a groan. It would only be a matter of moments until Crowley’s taunts would come pouring—

                Ping.

                “How can you do that so bloody fast?” the angel cried shrilly. He took a moment to apologize (to the air) for his cursing, then opened Crowley’s message.

                _Very nice_

                Aziraphale could hear the smugness dripping from it. He scowled and wrote back.

                Crowley, on his end, had long ago turned off the television program he had been watching. This was much more entertaining. He had decided he was going to try to find Flappy Bird again, just to teach it to the angel. He grinned when his phone announced the arrival of another message.

                _I’m grub g_

                The demon waited patiently.

                _I’m trying_ came the correction.

                _Nun cess acre too gf FR these they buttons_

                _My fingers_

                _Are too big_

                _For these tiny buttons_

                _This is expose tang_

_EXASPERATING_

                Crowley laughed. He had not yet used the phrase ‘lol’ in a text. For one thing, there was not much reason to text it to human contacts such as satanic nuns. He had also wanted to take advantage of the fact that the angel could not see his face. It meant he wouldn’t have to admit how often he was—purposefully, even—hilarious. But the demon supposed there was not much harm (in his sense of the word) in using it to laugh _at_ him.

                Aziraphale had had to get up and get a cup of tea and a packet of ice for his head. Having cold fingers was not going to make text messaging any easier, but as far as his success was going, it could hardly make it much worse. He sat back in his chair, held the ice to his head for a few moments, then finally picked up the dreaded device and opened Crowley’s message.

                _Lol_

                He stared. The ice pack, held against his forehead, began to slip. After a moment, it fell onto the floor with a splat. Aziraphale frowned.

                L.O.L. He had heard the letters in that order before. He wished he could remember for certain what they meant. He had thought, he had been sure, that they meant….

                Lots of love?

                But what on earth or in heaven or anywhere else would make the demon send that? Aziraphale, disgruntled, leaned over the side of the chair and fished around for the ice pack, keeping his eyes fixed on the phone’s screen. When he finally found the ice pack, he picked it up and smacked it against his head without noticing that it was covered in dust bunnies. He glowered at the phone, not out of anger, but out of extreme concentration.

                Demons didn’t—they could not—they wouldn’t, even if they could. And even if they could, they certainly wouldn’t send it to him, and certainly not ‘lots’ of it. Maybe the demon had only sent it out of sympathy for his typing failures. But sympathy was as undemonic as anything, except…

                Aziraphale realized with a horrible shock that he was not being fair. Because Crowley had expressed sympathy to him before, several times, in fact. There was the time his bookstore had burned down. When periwigs had gone out of fashion, he had even brought him an assortment of hats to try to cheer him up. Then there was the Library of Alexandria. That had been before their Arrangement, too. He had not done much, mostly leaving the angel to grieve alone for quite some time afterwards. But he had said, ‘That’s awful.’ For a demon, even expressing this, the idea that he understood, that he did not take any delight in the other’s pain, was something. It had only been because Aziraphale was too disconsolate that he had not noticed the significance of it at the time.

                Well, Aziraphale thought, if he was admitting to himself that he was not always the most observant…and ever since the Apocalypse, too, he had found reason to doubt convictions in which he had trusted for millennia…if he were being honest with himself, he knew that Crowley’s behavior seemed indicative of something beyond acquaintanceship. Acquaintances did not give each other iPhones, even if they could wish money into existence. They did not call as frequently as Crowley did, or dine with each other at the finest restaurants across history. An acquaintance would not put up with all of Aziraphale’s foibles, either, and he admitted that he had them….

                A new thought occurred to the angel. It takes two. Crowley was not the only one who had spent those countless hours, those years, in the company of the other. Aziraphale had gone with him for a reason. A reason he was only now beginning to notice, filling him with an odd kind of warmth.

                Before he could realize what he was doing and before his sense of judgment could stop himself, Aziraphale typed a response to Crowley, making absolutely sure that every word was typed correctly.

                _I love you, too._

                Crowley had almost dozed off. The angel had been taking so long that he expected the response to be an angry rant. When he saw the message, he jerked his head downward to look at the phone more closely in such a sudden motion that his glasses slid halfway down his nose. He stared.

                It took Crowley approximately thirty seconds to figure out what had happened. He had heard of people confusing the meaning of ‘lol’ before. He should have expected it. Only….

                Only that did not explain anything. Because the angel had replied. Why had he replied like that?

 Crowley calmly pushed his glasses back and contemplated the phone, trying to be rational. He lounged back on the sofa and regarded the phone coolly. After about thirty more seconds, he sat up again so violently that his glasses once more became askew, and his expression returned to one of extreme bafflement.

                Maybe it was a typo. Blessed autocorrect, Crowley laughed to himself uneasily. Always changing long-winded rants and lectures into four-word confessions of love….

                 Crowley bit his lip. He stared at the phone in his hand, his forefinger tapping its side restlessly. He took in a deep, long breath.

                _Ily2_

                Aziraphale thanked God (though not quite literally, thinking that he ought not to actually draw His attention to this) that Crowley had not taken as long to answer as he had. He looked at the message and blinked.

                The angel, though sometimes ignorant, was far from stupid, and he figured out immediately what ‘ily2’ meant. What he didn’t know was why Crowley had sent it. He should not have felt bad about this, seeing as the demon was not sure, himself. But Aziraphale was stuck wondering whether Crowley was starting an uncharacteristically sappy game of ‘You hang up first, No you’, because why would he say ‘I love you too’ if he had already said it first, or was he simply telling him the abbreviation for the phrase in chat speak?

                Until a horrible sensation crept up the back of the angel’s neck, and another thought entirely occurred to him. He had misunderstood it all.

                Meanwhile, Crowley had leaned back into the sofa again, this time in a mood that was far from even attempting to appear calm. He stared with wide eyes at the ceiling and did not move. His hand clutched the phone so tightly that his knuckles grew white. The phone dinged. He turned his eyes and lifted the phone the minimum amount for him to be able to read the message.

                _Oh, gosh. Lol does mean ‘lots of love’, doesn’t it?_

                Crowley still did not move.

                _Crowley?_

                Slowly, the demon extended his forefinger and typed the letter ‘I’, then stopped. He did not hit send.

                He waited.

                After a long time, his phone dinged again.

                _The speech bubble with the ‘…’ in it is the work of your side, isn’t it?_

                The corner of Crowley’s mouth lifted slightly. The angel texted him again before he had a chance to reply.

                _Only joking. We’re on the same side, really, aren’t we?_

_I’m sorry. Please text message back._

                This time, the corner of his mouth twitched. Crowley pulled himself up and smoothed out his hair. He looked at the phone thoughtfully, then opened the emoji section.

                He sent Aziraphale the kissy face.

                A moment later, his phone lit up, and the ringtone started to play. Aziraphale’s name appeared on the screen, bigger this time.

                Crowley tapped the screen with his finger and, with a grin, answered the call.


End file.
